


SMPtober

by JustASuicideCase



Series: SMPtober [1]
Category: SMPLive, SMPLive (Minecraft)
Genre: Depends on the part, Gen, Inktober-But-Writing, SMPLive - Freeform, SMPtober, horror?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-11-10 15:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustASuicideCase/pseuds/JustASuicideCase
Summary: inktober but i'll be writing smplive for all of october.everything is just as friends, don't make it more, you freaks.





	1. Ring

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to little-jschlatt-in-a-big-world (on tumblr) for coming up with this. also, real sorry if i butchered asaii, i've never watched anything from him. anyway, hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ItsAsaii

Rain pattered against the old home. Angry black clouds spat hundreds of raindrops onto the ground. Even the sturdiest trees shook from the powerful wind. Luckily, thought Asaii, he and the others had a strong roof over their heads.

“I think the kitchen’s all good,” Travis huffed. The rest of the group—Carson, Gold, Brentan, Poke, and Asaii—silently acknowledged the task’s completion. Brentan looked down at the list in his hand, “Okay, that leaves us with a few more chores. I’ll read one out, someone raises their hand. Everyone has to do one, besides you, Travis.”

They collectively nodded. As Travis flopped on the antique sofa, Brentan began to call out tasks.

“Check the upstairs bedrooms for anything we missed and tidy them up?” Carson raised his hand once Brentan finished, he nodded as he wrote on the paper.  
“Same thing but downstairs?” Gold’s hand shot into the air. Brentan wrote again, Gold cast a triumphant glare in Poke’s direction.  
“Cleaning up the backyard?” With some reluctance, Poke silently volunteered. The sound of pencil on paper accompanied the rainfall.  
“The attic?” Realising only him and Brentan remained to pick, Asaii volunteered.

Once he finished his writing, Brentan spoke again, “Well, that leaves me with the garage. Let’s try to hurry this up; our flight leaves in an hour-and-a-half.” And with that, everyone left to do their assigned job.

Since they were the only two going upstairs, Carson and Asaii worked their way through the grand house together. They made jokes as they climbed the creaky stairs, both uncertain if the next step would give out and send them plummeting through the floor. “See you on the other side,” Carson dramatically said as he stopped at the first bedroom’s door. Asaii rolled his eyes and laughed as he returned the gesture.

The honeycomb-patterned carpet made the hallway seem to stretch forever. Oil paintings of strangers and bowls of fruit lined the otherwise bare walls. Eventually he found the hatchet to the attic. A small brass chain hung just low enough for him to grab. With everything he had, Asaii yanked the chain towards him with both hands. The ginger leapt back as he threw the hatchet open with a loud thud. Stairs leading up to the room clinked down to the second story floor, step by step. The man climbed the stairs with as much caution as he could muster. Metal whining joined the downpour with every step he took.

He peaked out of the entrance to see the extra living room exactly how they left it—a mess. Asaii sighed as he finished climbing the run-down stairs.

As he threw the last empty soda can into the trashcan, he noticed something that wasn’t there the night before. A small oak box sat on the edge of the TV stand. Curious, the ginger man approached the case. Without a second thought, Asaii opened the polished box.

Inside the box, a small golden ring shined. It sat between two velvety folds, giving him a perfect view of the gems embedded into the gold. Rubies, squarely cut, lined the centre; Almost perfect clear white quartz sat on top and beneath the blood red gems. The band emanated an energy, one Asaii couldn’t tell good or bad.

Almost instinctively, he slipped the ring onto his middle finger. It was the perfect size. A sinister energy flowed through him within seconds. He knew what this golden band was capable of.

A menacing smirk crept up his lips. He knew what he had to do, and how to execute his plans.


	2. Mindless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically sequel to Ring  
CallMeCarson

“See you on the other side!” he dramatically said. Carson heard Asaii laugh and return his goodbye, though much less striking. The dark oak door slammed behind him. The bedroom was decently clean—making the bed seemed to be the only thing to do, much to his relief.

Carson gripped the smooth, almost silky, comforter and stretched it over the mattress’s corners. With little resistance, the strawberry-blonde made the bed. Only then did he realise the strange-yet-fascinating colours in this room. Blood red walls with fancy golden patterns along the trim. The ceiling and carpet were the same pristine snow colour. The now-made bed matched the room’s theme. A vibrant crimson comforter almost entirely covered the thin white sheet that wrapped around the mattress. Golden pillows laid on top of the bed, perfectly arranged at the head of the bed.

A small flame of victory lit in his chest, he looked over his work. He continued to clean the rest of the rooms. Something the tall boy noticed was a pattern among the rooms. One had eco green walls and the flooring, ceiling, and bed were varying shades of brown. Another room, affectionately named the ‘ocean room’, had walls of an ombre of blues—starting navy at the top, and slowly transitioned to a soft sky blue at the bottom. Every room a different energy than the last—the ocean room had a calming vibe to, the green room’s energy felt as if he would go insane if he stayed in there a second longer. But, the first bedroom had a dark, almost evil, energy to it. Shaking off his goosebumps, Carson exited out of the last room and began the traverse to the living area with Travis and anyone else who might have finished.

Then he froze in place. Not because he forgot something or chose to, he just stopped. Carson tried to move his paralyzed limbs, but that showed no result. Footsteps sounded from behind him as the helpless man tried to escape this curse. He wouldn’t have ever noticed Asaii if he didn’t menacingly chuckle at the meek human. Carson allowed himself to relax, thinking his friend would help him or go get the others, and tried to speak. His mouth stayed shut; Whatever froze his body forced his mouth closed too. Asaii circled the statuted man.

Carson’s stomach dropped when he saw his friend’s face entirely. Instead of the calm, bubbly chocolate brown eyes, Asaii had two piercing rubies that glared at him. Fear gripped his heart, Asaii leaned closer to him. Carson braced, preparing for the worst, but the ginger muttered, “Get the others out of here for me, Carson. Forcefully, if necessary.”

His face went slack as his legs moved on his own. Robotically, the tall boy walked down the stairs towards his friends. Though his conscious screamed at him to stop, his body kept going. It was almost like something kicked Carson to the back of his mind and hijacked his body. The first person he saw was his curly-haired friend, Travis. He coldly gripped the nearest rope-like thing near him—an extension cord—and walked towards his napping figure. With no effort, Carson gently wrapped the cord around his throat and put all of his weight into leaning back.

His own tiny voice cried for him to stop in vain. He moved to the next, leaving his suffocated friend behind. Time for the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you thought you were gonna get a full ending? ha


	3. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cscoop

The gravel crunched under him as the long-haired boy made his way home. Sunlight struck the roof of leaves above the peaceful village. It warmed his skin perfectly. Lone merchant stands littered the sides of the main path, many left unattended and their wares left out to browse. Cooper, pressed for time, went against his routine and continued on the trail.

Within minutes, he was at his family’s home. It was nothing to be jealous of; It was a simple log cabin, built some way away from the village square. The unlocked door smoothly swung open. “Finally, Prince Cooper came back to his family!” Cooper cringed at his father’s derogatory tone. He meekly muttered an apology.

Relieving himself from the weight of his heavy bookbag, the blonde walked into the kitchen. Before he could grasp what was happening, his head smashed against the wall behind him. “Forgot how to respond, you ungrateful little shit?” Fear gripped his heart, stopping any words from leaving his dry mouth. The older man slammed him into the wall several more times, still spewing curses and humiliation at the boy. His father threw him to the ground. “get the fuck out of here,” he spat, eyes full of venom, and walked away. Gingerly, Cooper dusted himself off; his head ached from the pounding.

As silently as he could, Cooper snuck out the door past his sleeping father—empty whiskey bottles surrounding him, as usual. He stumbled down the path, holding his head with a hand, towards Carson’s, one of his lifelong friends, home.  
-  
He woke with a start. Trying his best to recollect any memory of where he was, the boy scanned his surroundings. The interior alone told him the owners came from money. The soft couch he was lying on was midnight black, one of many colours hard to get your hand on around here. Before he could see anymore subtle displays of wealth, Cooper spotted a family picture with a certain familiar face. He made it to Carson’s house. The boy sighed a breath of relief and laid back down on the couch. Mrs King must have grabbed him the fluffy blanket he had on top of him now.

“Oh, good, you’re up.” Carson stood in the front doorway. Cooper nodded, “You remember anything from last night?” Cooper shook his head. Being the good friend he is, the strawberry-blonde sat on the same couch his friend laid and retold last night’s events. Cooper knocking on his door, the whole family helping him out, what Cooper told them about his father; Everything.

Feeling like he had outstayed his welcome, and out of embarrassment, Cooper excused himself out of the home and made the trek back home. With no pressure to return home, the long-haired boy explored the market area. Cooper purposefully got lost in the labyrinthine of the merchant court. Jewelry, intricate home decor, varying bottles of alcohol—this market had everything anyone could hope for. That’s when he saw the poster.

WANT A STRONG, WILLING PERSON FOR THE BETTERMENT OF OUR PEACE. REWARD: $1,000,000 TO HIS/HER FAMILY. FOR ANYONE WILLING, GO TO THE TOWN HALL.

The sound of him tearing the poster off of the post filled the air. His legs moved on their own to the elegantly crafted building. The hall was a sight to marvel at. Seven long pillars made of a white stone held up the brick roof. Before he could psych himself out, Cooper stepped into the building. Inside, a man sat on a very comfortable looking chair. The elder wore his years on his face with a sense of pride. As Cooper looked around for who to speak with, he spoke, “Are you interested in being the sacrifice?” His voice creaked as his chair did when he shifted, now favouring his right. The younger nodded, the wrinkled man stood up and beckoned him to follow.

The two walked into a simple room, dust particles filled the air and coated every surface they could. “What’s your name, kiddo?” the aged fellow inquired.“Cooper.”“Cooper…?”He hesitated a moment. The elder stared strangely at him.“Cooper King.”  
-  
Later that night, Cooper snuck out of his home again. Instead of the regular route that lead him to Carson’s house and school, he went the opposite direction. He continued walking in the same direction until he reached a long line of tall redwoods. Without hesitation, the boy broke into a sprint and shadow swallowed his figure.

He traveled for several hours in the dark forest, not entirely sure where the special flower was exactly. Then he saw it. Illuminated by the full moon’s light, the flower sat between a crevice of a piece of stone that jutted from the soft soil. A smile broke through his features, Cooper dashed up the stone’s smooth surface towards the flower. Its petals were as pure as fresh snow that slowly turned into the brightest red he had ever seen. As he marvelled at the beauty one tiny plant could hold, several pairs of heavy footsteps came from behind him.

A tiny twig snapped and his head shot towards its source. Three men, much larger than himself, greeted his sight. Each had a malicious glint in their eyes that chilled the younger’s blood. To his horror, the party also held sharp axes. Cooper opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, the men rushed him, weapons high in the air.

Only in his final moments did he realise how naïve he was. Why would anyone pay $1,000,000 to his family just for a damn flower? He had heard rumours about barbarians and their impending threat to their utopian world, but he never believed them—until now.

The blood-curdling scream broke the silence as the men swung their axes down upon him.


	4. Freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24FramesOfNick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit shorter than normal, but i'm tired as fuck

Blood rushed to his cheeks as frost nipped his skin. His tattered jeans were wet with melted snow. Freshly chopped logs strained his muscles as he trudged along the snowy path back to the cabin. Nick was alone and bored, his mind wondered. Mostly thoughts of going back home—which was usual—and how weak he felt.

Hunger gnawed at his stomach and seeped away every ounce of his strength. His arms began to tremble, legs began to shake in exertion, goosebumps raised along his arms. The blizzard raged on, harder and more vicious. His vision blurred; The ground below became one big blur. Firewood sunk into the snow as the man collapsed. Pitifully, Nick shakily crawled to pick it up and stand. The rest of the group needed this to survive.

Time after time, the curly-haired man’s arms gave out from below him. Groan left his mouth as his eyes began to burn. He wanted to sleep. If he slept, Nick reasoned, the snow would melt and he could find his way back. The path would also be visible, he added to his list of reasons. The others could wait an hour or two.

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes. He just knew it felt amazing to relax. Just as he predicted, everything felt better. The world became static and heat. Not too hot, just the perfect amount of warm. A sigh passed through his lips, the snow pile below him was the perfect pillow.

Hours passed and Nick had yet to stir. Instead of warm, lively, soft pink lips, the silent killer sucked all colour out of them, leaving his entire body an unnatural white and icy blue. Snow fell on top of him, attempting to cover its murder from the public’s eye. An eerie rattle shook his chest as the man took his last breath. Nick’s frozen body finally was peacefully at rest, buried beneath many layers of snow. 

Travis, Ty, Cameron, Brentan, Nicolas and James stayed up for hours waiting for their friend’s arrival—but he never showed. An unspoken truth filled the cabin. Each solemn with the realisation that they had lost one of their dearest friends.


	5. Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luemas

The sun fell asleep, shielded behind sloping, blue mountains, each smaller than the one before. The trees were strong, black soldiers, standing in an unmoving row. Sam wiped the sweat off his brow as he turned attention to the setting sun and to his newly finished build. Stripped logs stacked on top of each other. Large windows that overlooked the rest of the dark forest provided loads of natural light. It was larger than he expected, but the cabin had plenty of room for the entire group—Wilbur, Angel, Ty, Poke, Dashell, and himself—to spend the night.

"’Kay guys, it’s done!” Sam called to his friends. They approached, gawking at the grand building. Each complimented the build and Sam’s ability, which he gladly accepted. Darkness swallowed any colour once in the sky; the friends piled into the house. When he entered his creation, a chill crept down his spine, he pushed it off.

Nothing really happened after that; Everyone a bed and slept peacefully through the night. But the next morning, everyone began their separate experiences.

Sam opened his eyes. He was sleeping on his side; Back against the wall, facing a large window overlooking the layers of trees that stretched along the rolling green hills. It was a beautiful sight to wake to—until the man realised an unknown presence paralyzed him.

Horror over took him. A shadowy figure of a large man overtook the pleasant view. The blood pounded in his ears. His heart thudded in his chest. His vision disfigured, as if he were looking through a fish-eye lens. He had to get away. He couldn’t stay in the damned house any longer. Breathing was hard. Hard. As if he’d just run a marathon. He cried harder, his chest growing tight as bile rose in his throat. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and willed the figment to leave.

Much to Sam’s relief, the shadow left and his muscles loosened, but he still had paranoid thoughts about the man. Sam shot up out of bed, still believing people would break into the cabin. Screams tore through the mute house as he raced towards the front door. Without thinking, the long-haired man broke through the trees. He swore he heard several others follow him, none being his friends.

Lone twigs scraped against any exposed skin they could while the undergrowth attempted to trip him any chance they got. The footsteps followed close behind. It was around mid-day and he was still being chased. Blood seeping into his eyes, Sam squinted to find where he could hide—the first time in hours he had stopped running. The footsteps were faint now, but still too near for him to relax.

Bringing a hand up to his scared forehead, Sam wiped the fresh blood as he leaned against one of the tall spruces. Allowing his over-exerted legs a chance to rest, the blonde sat on the forest floor. Sweat dried against his pale skin as he panted.

Out of exhaustion, Sam fell out of consciousness in the middle of the woods; Hours upon hours of straight running had finally taken its toll on the tired man.


	6. Husky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traves

Days passed since Nick’s disappearance, everyone crowded in the tiny cabin. Fear presented itself at every turn in the dark spruce tundra. The unknown killer forced the group to hole themselves up, unable to leave to find the basic essentials of survival. Almost a week without food, their water supply—melted snow they gathered in front of the house—was dwindling, they had ran out of firewood when Nick left; They couldn’t survive another day like this.

Travis had enough. The boy couldn’t live like this for another second.

As everyone slept, the black-haired boy crept out of the cottage. Through his thick winter coat, the air sank its frosty fangs into his flesh, turning his blood to ice. He shook his head to remember what he needed. Three hours without shelter, three days without water, three weeks without food. Fire wood, water, food. He repeated it in his mind as he began to walk into the trees.

Without an axe, Travis resorted to ripping off low-hanging branches. At least an hour passed until the rather large pile of wood satisfied him. His footprints, while slightly more filled in than before, were still visible and led him back to their shelter. Cracking the door a bit, Travis gently set the pile beside the door where they’d be safe from the elements. He grabbed several cups off of the counter before heading out.

He closed the door behind him and did his next task—find clean drinking water. Setting off in the opposite direction, he searched and searched for what he desired, only to more snow and trees.

The husky’s ginger pelt stood out starkly against the freezing powder below them. She turned her head towards the boy, her neon orange eyes wistfully judged him as he approached cautiously. Red blurred across his vision as the dog dashed forward, Travis’s shoulders hunched ever-so-slightly. But, much to his disbelief, the husky stopped several feet ahead, staring at his again—a slow running river in front of her, much to his disbelief. Travis filled the cups to the brim, stealing glances at the hound every once in a while.

On the way back, which was much shorter than he remembered, the dog followed beside him. Snowflakes stuck to her fur, adding a small white freckle every time. Her orange eyes focused forward and studied the path ahead of them. Travis set the cups back on the cabin and stepped back out, she stayed sitting. The dog followed when Travis began walking again.

Without a sound, she raced in front of him. Squeals filled the stagnant air for a moment before abruptly ending.

She came back, the corpse of a large snow hare in her jaws and blood coating her orange fur. Gingerly, Travis took the dead hare from her, blood coating his hand as he did. Seconds later, she raced back into the woods and emerged with more rabbits. Travis smiled as he patted her on the head and said encouragement to her, which she accepted gratefully. The two travelled back to the cabin—blood soaking their skin and fur, respectfully.

There was a light glow coming from one of the cabin’s windows. Someone was awake. The dog nuzzled his hand, showing that Travis should take the prey from her jaws. He did and opened the cabin’s door, “Where the fuck were you Travis?” Cameron’s voice cut through the air. Before he could reply, Cameron looked down at the dead rabbits. “You got us food?” “Well, me and her.” He tilted his head towards the husky, patiently waiting outside. Cameron looked out the window.

“What do you mean Travis?” The New Zealander looked back at him. “The dog,” he state matter-of-factly. The taller man shook his head, “There’s no dog, Travis.”

“You can just say you got us meat. No one will judge you for hunting. Hell, I wish we’d done it before,” Cameron rambled on as Travis looked out at the empty tundra. His companion had disappeared, just disappeared in the soft snowfall. He tilted his head, he knew he didn’t make the dog up. There were no paw prints in the snow, not even a slight indention of where she sat.

Before he could investigate further, the rest of the group had walked out of their rooms and were over the moon about the firewood, water, and meat. The boy shrugged it off and helped Brendan start a fire.


	7. Enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur Soot

Wilbur woke as he heard someone shout and the door slam shut. He blinked his tired eyes before wondering down the stairs. Natural morning light filtered in through the large windows above and beside him. The man began to brew a pot of coffee—he deserved some after the sudden wake-up he received.

Hot steam lifted into his face as he poured the brew into a light blue mug. He watched it for a moment, mesmerised by the semi-transparent smoke floating up into the air before being blown away by his steady breathing. Lifting the cup by its handle, Wilbur explored the cabin.

The home was rather large—considering the little time Sam took when building it. Many rooms were unknown to him. He wanted to explore the unexplored.

Hallways that led to bedrooms, a large second living area downstairs, an impressive library. The Brit was growing bored with seeing the same sights repeatedly. He moved his will to explore into finding the most interesting books in the library and examine some art. The library—two stories high, rollable ladders edged the room, elegant recreations of ancient classics hung against the walls—looked straight out of a fantasy novel. Wilbur stopped to examine a stunning recreation of the Statue of David in the centre of several armchairs and side tables. Sam’s building ability always amazed him.

Setting his piping-hot coffee on one of the nearby tables, Wilbur wondered down the aisles, skimming through books at random. At the end of the wall of books, an acoustic guitar hung on the far wall. The man paced to it, excitement coursing through his veins. He’d forgotten his back in London and had been itching to play.

The guitar came off its mount easily. He retreated to the reading area and sat in one of the small leather armchairs. One hand gripped the neck and the other prepared to strum. He tuned the instrument before playing a quick tune, which turned into several of Crywank‘s songs.

Before he realised anything happened, the man noticed a small, misty cat wrapped around his ankle. Unconcerned about the feline, Wilbur kept playing. Next: an almost-clear bulldog sat on the chair next to him. Slowly, more and more animals appeared, each more visible than the last. It now just clicked in his mind; This was no normal guitar, but an enchanted one.

They heard footsteps descend from upstairs, he and the animals turned their heads towards the sound. Poke walked pass the room, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “Hey, Wil,” the man tiredly murmured, not looking at the Englishman. He returned the greeting, glancing around as he did.

The animals disappeared. Wilbur looked down at the guitar, he was right. This was no normal guitar, not in the slightest.


	8. Frail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IamTyy

Heat thawed the air from the fire to their side. A warm orange glow tinted everything within its grasp. Travis continued his story, the younger boy listened intently.

“And then she came back with a dead rabbit! A whole rabbit, Ty! Then, when I took it from her, she brought two more!” Ty gasped. One log grew weary and gave into, forcing the other leaning on it to fall with it. Embers sprang into the air, lively dancing towards the two before dying out just before hitting either of them. Over the crackling fire, “Shame she got away. We could’ve used a hunting dog.” The boy in front of his nodded at the statement and turned his head to the fire, mind in another place.

A moment of still silence passed before he added, “We could look for her, if you want.” Travis tilted hi head, eyes still on the glowing flame, as if considering. He shook his head, “Nah. If she left, she must’ve not wanted to be here.”

With that, the two exchanged wills of a good night’s rest and retreaded to their respective bedrooms. But Ty could not sleep.

His mind kept picturing the dog that could vanish at a moment's notice. Her ginger fur, neon orange eyes—no matter how vivid his description was in his mind, he knew it wasn’t right. At least, not entirely. He need to see the husky for himself.

The small boy snuck out of the cabin, slowly closing the front door behind him. He thought for a moment about where the hound would retreat to during this clear night. No snow fell from above, much to Ty’s surprise. They had been in a blizzard for several days and now… nothing. Ty passed it off as his luck beginning to turn. He decided heading straight would be his best bet to find her.

Time passed and his search turned up fruitless; Only bare spruce branches above him, freezing snow beneath him, empty mouths of caves greeted him. The boy searched one more cave before beginning the walk back to the temporary home. It was dark, only the full moon high in the sky provided little light for him. Placing his hands on the stinging-cold stone walls, Ty wondered into the shallow cavern.

Nothing much, it was an ordinary cave, just like the many he checked before. Before Ty began to back out of the cave and head back to the shelter, his hand brushed against unnatural grooves carved into the walls. Thanking his eyes for adjusting to the dark, he scanned the carvings. They looked foreign to the boy, almost like hieroglyphics. His mind finally came to the most obvious conclusion—someone has either lived here or the unknown person still does.

Thundering footsteps sounded at the opening, Ty’s chest tightened. He whipped his head around. There was nowhere to hide. His mind screamed at him. Every nerve in his body began to feel fried as his breathing quickened. The steps were closer. Ty willed his shaky legs to move, but they refused. It seemed like neither fight nor flight kicked in, but the hidden third of ‘freeze’ did its job.

Pain flared from the back of his head, he crumpled to the ground. Touching the back of his head, blood coated his fingertips. Not a moment after, another blow to his temple. Again and again, never ending. Screams fought their way out of his closed throat, tearing through the midnight air.

Eventually, Ty gave into the overwhelming pain of being beaten by whoever this person was.


	9. Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JimmyHere

He curled into a ball on the stone cold floor. His eyes couldn’t form tears anymore. Jimmy stared at the dark wall, using his arm as a pillow. Heavy footsteps came from the hall outside his jail cell. Blinding light burnt his eyes as the door squealed open. “Hey, buddy, you gotta get up.” Jimmy could smell the alcohol on the guards from his spot on the floor.

“C’mon, we’re rather bored out here.” He lay still.“What’s a party without the clown?” Another slurred. Jimmy continued his silent protest.“Don’t ya want out of this lonely cell? Come entertain the people!” He didn’t move a muscle.

The drunk guards stomped toward his motionless form. A kick to his back, another bruise to add to the countless others. Another ground his steel-toed boot into his ribs, most definitely breaking several. A hand ripped his hand back by his overgrown hair. “When we tell you to do somethin’, you do it. Understood?” the man whispered through gritted teeth.

Taking his silence as agreement, the man released his brown hair. The three men left him to stand by himself, which was rather difficult with his shaky legs and inadequate diet. They walked towards the party.

Breaking bones, cutting his skin with knives, searing and branding him with hot irons—all tactics by the sadistic party-goers to listen to him cry. Every inch of his body hurt. Exhaustion washed over him in many waves.

He wanted to end the pain, the misery—and he knew exactly how to.

During his torture, Jimmy searched for anything long enough and could support his weight when he saw the time was fit. Hours upon hours passed before he found exactly what he was looking for—a strong, sturdy rope.

His hands shook, his heart beat faster than it had ever before. This was the only he could be free. No one knew where he was, probably didn’t even know they had taken him. Hopelessness finally set in as he snuck out of the room. He stood at the top of the grand set of stairs that led from the first to the second floor. Above was an exposed support beam, most likely left exposed for aesthetic purposes.

He stuck his head through the loop he tied, this was the only way for him to be okay. Jimmy jumped off the edge. He blacked out almost instantly.

It wasn’t until hours later when his captors realised their source of sadistic amusement wasn’t in the room. They rushed out to see the luke-warm corpse hanging by a rope for all to see.

Unable to contain themselves, they burst out into laughter. Even in death, they still tormented him.


	10. Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ToxxxicSupport

With the rest of the cabin bustling with life, Angel woke up and got ready. During her daily morning routine, she noticed small patterns etched in the walls. A white diamond on top of a black circle on an orange square. Repeatedly covering the walls. She wrote it off as her being tired the night before and didn't pay attention to the decorative wallpaper.

Deja vu clouded her mind as she looked down the hallway. The carpet now had the same pattern. White diamond, black circle, orange square; It never ended. Overcoming the feeling, Angel walked down to the kitchen where a hot pot of freshly brewed coffee greeted her. Pouring herself a cup, she relaxed at the island bar. But the hot drink couldn’t warm her as her blood froze. White diamonds, black circles, oranges squares; The pattern had replaced everything.

The stools, ceiling, even the chilly snow outside—everything a single texture. Angel’s eyes hurt, her brain couldn’t comprehend the surrounding scene.

Forgetting the mug of coffee, she made her way outside. Everything stayed the same pattern and was motionless. She continued on. Eventually she began running, everything stayed still. Flocks of patterned birds froze against a patterned sky. Turning in circles, the girl tried to find the way back to the cabin. Everything looked the same. Panic rose in her chest as she realised her fate. The exhaustion of sprinting for hours on end, she fell to her knees then face-first into the powdery snow.

Angel woke with a start, head on the soft pillow from the night before. Though she couldn’t remember her dream, he felt a sense of dread. With the rest of the cabin bustling with life, Angel woke up and got ready. During her daily morning routine, she noticed small patterns etched in the walls. A white diamond on top of a black circle on an orange square. Repeatedly covering the walls. She wrote it off as her being tired the night before and didn’t pay attention to the decorative wallpaper.

Deja Vu pinched her nerves. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but feel as if she had done before a thousand times. On her way out of her bathroom, Angel saw tally marks etched into the door. 84 tallies, one looking fairly new.

White diamonds, black circles, orange squares—the pattern covered her bedroom. She felt a distantly familiar panic shoot through her nerves as she sprinted outside to see everything all over again.


	11. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SneegSnag

Morning light filled the living area, basking Brendan in its light blue glow. He casually leaned to one side, hand holding his head, as he flipped through channels on the television. He yawned, tears naturally forming at the edge of his eyes. There was nothing to do. Nothing interesting on television, everyone else was sleeping, another blizzard ravaged outside. The man let out a quiet groan of annoyance. Channel after channel; Boring nonsense after boring nonsense.

Tired of being a channel-flipper, Brendan watched whatever program was on. His luck was not fortunate. A snooze-inducing episode of ‘How It’s Made’ played. He sighed as the monotone narrator detailed the intricate process of the making of horseradish. He drummed his fingers against the arm of the comfy chair, the action bringing a sense of relief to his buzzing mind.

Everything became a blur of colour as his eyes unfocused. His ears, sensitive to sound without his normal vision, cringed at the sound of static. Snapped back to reality, he realised the cause of the harsh noise. The blizzard must have knocked out the satellite.

He ran a hand through his hair as he leaned back in the chair. This was just his luck. With nothing better to do, Brendan went back to his daydreaming, eyes on the blaring television.

The television static looked like snow and as he looked closer, he swore he could make out a figure in the pixels. The person looked too small to be a man. Brendan blinked several times before he squinted at the boy. It had to be a trick his mind was playing on him. There’s no way it could be who he thought it was. He threw himself off of the seat and knelt in front of the television. It couldn’t be…

Inside the television, pounding of the screen from the inside, was a mini Ty. Though he was screaming at the top of his lungs, the static swallowed every word. Brendan couldn’t hear a single word. He tried to comprehend the scene in front of him. It must be a trick of his mind. The young boy was still in his room, sound asleep—he never left, right?

Brendan dashed to his friend’s room, leaving the figment behind, smacking against the glass and screaming for help. He threw open the door—Ty wasn’t there. His features fell when he didn’t see the boy anywhere. Where had he gone? Was that really him in the television? Questions raced around in his mind as he steadily paced back to the static box.

Only static was present on the screen. This crushed all hope he had in an instant. Where the hell was Ty? Brendan stared out the window. Dread infected his chest as he saw a line of small footsteps leading out into the dark forest. Snow fluttered across the glass, trying to protect him from the crude truth of what happened to his friend.

He just wanted to go home. He never wanted two of his friends to die. Brendan sobbed into his hand, trying to keep the rest of the cabin in blissful ignorance of another death.


	12. Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antvenom

Trees scratched against his skin as he sprinted through the thick forest. Voices shouted from behind him, calling out his location every time he escaped their view. His lungs screamed along with his legs. No matter how much it hurt, he had to keep going. Darkness clouded his sight, forcing Taylor to run blindly into the emptiness of the woodland. The man begged for the guards behind him to give up.

His body slammed directly into a towering cliff face, pain punched his entire front. Rubbing his bleeding forehead, Taylor scanned the rocky wall for a cave. He needed shelter.

An indention of the otherwise-smooth cliff caught his eye. Desperate to escape his oncoming execution, Taylor searched for handholds solely by touch. He scrambled up the mountain, lanky limbs propelling the rest of his body up towards safety.

He pressed himself against the cave’s rough wall, too afraid and numb to feel the jagged rocks stab into his injured back. He censored his breathing. Footsteps approached at the bottom of the ridge. His executioners whispered among each other before splitting up—one to the left, one to the right. Several minutes passed before Taylor allowed himself to breathe.

But his relief was short-lived. Once the man lifted himself off the wall, he felt something breath against his exposed leg, almost burning his leg. Panic, once again, filled his exhausted limbs as he whipped around to face the threat.

A tiny, black-scaled dragon greeted him, curiously tilting her head at him. Worry quickly left as he bent down to the dragon’s height. The aura of innocence that surrounded the freshly hatched dragon brought down his guard. He extended a hand to stroke the whelping’s head, which she graciously accepted.

It puzzled him. It wasn’t custom for a mother dragon to leave her newborn. Taylor shrugged it off; At least he’d have a place to sleep tonight. He laid on the ground, sleep finally ready to overtake him. The whelp pranced over to him and laid on his chest, her head nuzzled just underneath his chin.

Warmth filled his heart as he closed his heavy eyes. A place to stay for tonight, then he could continue his travels.


	13. Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ThePixelBomb

Months have passed, and the prisoner was still at large. Joe slammed his hand onto the wooden table, the sound reverberated across the hollow concrete office. The man sighed out of frustration as he ran a hand through his hair. Anger bubbled up in his chest as he scanned through the documents on the criminal yet again.

He had every detail about the low-life memorised. Name Taylor, twenty-one-years-old, brown hair, brown eyes—all fucking useless without his location.

Joe leaned back in his office chair, trying to sort his thoughts. This was too much stress for the small town commander. He reached for the carton of cigarettes on the far end of the desk. One couldn’t hurt, he thought as he lit the cigarette.

Smoke burned his lungs, he kept reviewing the documents that lay before him. He stood up, nerves burning up throughout his body. The commander exhaled. Thin white smoke escaped his lips and lifted into the air. The gas separated into tiny clouds before evaporating before him. A few more hits, still pacing back and forth.

His patience finally snapped. He ripped the door open and walked into the empty hall. None of his men would be up and if they were, they’d be on guard. If you want something done, you have to do it yourself.

It was a silent night; Few people were normally out and about at this hour. He retraced his guards’ steps into the thick forest.

Many hours passed before he ran into the same cliff face his men described. It was rather tall, made up of smooth grey stone all the way to the top. He squinted his eyes to spot any sign the perpetrator’s whereabouts.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a clue—a small indentation in the otherwise smooth wall. Glee overtook him as he climbed up the mountain front, thanking the sun for staying up a few minutes longer than usual. He flicked his still-lit cigarette into the forest.

Ducking his head, Joe enter the cave.

A small pile of hay and grass in one corner, leftover food in another—all signs that the fugitive he was looking for was, in fact, alive and well. He placed a hand on the pistol on his hip. He snuck around the larger cavern.

Several tense minutes passed before he finished his search of the cave. There was no one; Irritation returned. Out of instinct, his fist crashed against the rocky wall. A gasp sounded from the entrance.

He whipped around—Taylor stood; the sun setting behind him and the creature beside him. Its head came at the man’s waist, wings outstretched to his shoulder.

“You! It’s you! Don’t you dare fucking move, you-”

That was all he could scream before the whelp beside the traitor opened its deadly mouth. Everything happened in slow-motion. Joe could see a light come from the back of its throat and crawl forward to the front. The flame flew out towards the commander. Taylor shouted something, but the roar of the oncoming blast and fear of what would come next overtook his senses. A blood-curdling scream tore through the air as his body burned, skin blistering and sizzling away.

The only thing that remained of the loyal man was a pile of ash. Taylor stared in horror, certain he would hear that scream in his dreams for the rest of his life.


	14. Overgrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pokay

“Hey Wil,” Poke tiredly murmured as he passed the British boy playing the guitar. Wilbur meekly responded as Poke took a sip from his coffee. His eyelids sagged as he sat on the comfortable couch in the living area. Another swig of caffeine, another yawn followed. The man tried to rub the sleep from his eyes with no avail.

The silence of the house kept him up. He lived in a busy apartment building with all hours of the night and throw him into a deathly silent cabin, he could relax. All night he felt something ominous lurking within his room. He drank again, the cup now out of the liquid keeping him alive.

Sighing, Poke got up and went to retrieve more coffee. He noticed the strange change of the kitchen.

Once clean white countertops now plants grew out the cracks across its surface. Walls now had thick, dark green vines infecting them. It looked ancient, as if Poke and the others lived there for centuries; It was all overgrown. It took him back. Everything rapidly aged before him—vines dragged across the floor, cracks grew deeper.

Confusion overtook him; What was going on? He set the mug on a broken counter before slowly backing out of the room. The decay followed, wreaking the rest of the house. The wooden floor rotted away, walls developed cracks within their surface—everything was going to hell. Poke ran down the hallway, towards the library and bedrooms.

“Wil?” he shouted, still running down the hall. No one responded. He looked into the library from the entrance, no one was there. He passed it off and ran to the rest of the bedrooms. The overgrowth followed. Books disintegrated into nothing, carpet grew mouldy and reeked; Everything rotted away into nothing.

After a quick search of the rooms, Poke found no one else was in the house. While he was happy none of his friends had to see what was happening, a pang of isolation struck him. He shook it off for a moment, running away from the cursed house and into the forest below.


	15. Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade

The stadium filled with the roaring of the bloodthirsty crowd above him. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, out of the anticipation of fighting and the mid-noon sun that glared down at him and the savages he aimed to appease. He found the weight of his broadsword comforting; It was the only thing anchoring to reality. The cheers continued as Dave looked down at the newly polished sword. They forced a peasant to clean his sword—a sword that most likely killed their friends and family. He pushed down the disgust he felt towards what he had become, instead channelling it into a rage for the upcoming match.

Boos and the clacking of chains fuelled his hatred. With eyes full of malice, he glared down at the prisoner a few metres across the sand from him. The boy—cheekbones jutted out from need of nutrition, eyes now darker with lack of sleep—nervously glanced the champion up and down as the guard undid his chains.

It would be an easy match for the warrior.

A cloaked announcer emerged from one of the dark tunnels leading to the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for this bloody match prepared for you this fine afternoon?” His booming voice reached the audience who roared in anticipation. He praised their excitement and introduced the match. “Our first competitor, the king’s own champion, a legend among men: Technoblade!” Upon hearing his given name, Dave forced a look of pride as he raised his sword into the air; He swallowed back his disgust at the praise.

“His competitor—a traitor of the crown!” Insults emerged from the crowd’s lips, the boy ducked his head in shame. The announcer pretended not to notice as he said to the two, “Let’s have a fair, blood-filled fight, boys!” With that, he retreated to the safety of the tunnels.

Trumpets signified the beginning of the match. Techno strengthened the grip on his sword as he carefully creeped towards the challenger. Realising the match had begun, the prisoner copied his form—short knife in his hand with a white-knuckled grip. The fighters had a moment of tense peace as they sized the other. Without hesitation, Techno dived forward.

With carefully planned precision, the sword cut through the boy’s sleeve and into his flesh. Blood dyed the dirty shirt a deep red within a moment’s notice. The captive leaped back as he grabbed his arm with a quiet shout.

Techno lightly cut the boy, he jumped back, and the crowd roared in victory—this was the next hour of the match.

As the crowd was praising the sadistic game, the king caught Techno’s eye. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the king trace his throat—he’d grown bored with this match. 

With a slight nod of his head, he aimed his next attack. The sickening sound of sharp metal penetrating the boy’s throat clogged his ears. He swiftly ripped his sword back, fresh blood coated its surface. The liquid shot out of the wound before he tried to stop it with both hands. Blood seeped through his fingers; His eyes began to glaze over like that of the dead. The savages above screamed as they watched the young boy bleed out onto the sand below.

Dave shook his head, trying to stop the image from searing into his memory like the others seem to do. He turned to face the satisfied king. The old man waved his hand, signalling him to leave the arena and wash up for dinner later. The darkness of the tunnel engulfed the man as he escaped the horrific scene.


	16. Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JunkyJanker

Madness finally set in. The boy couldn’t take it anymore. Two of his friends were dead-how could he live with that? Nothing mattered anymore.

Nicolas tried to block the wind as he attempted to light the pile of sticks in front of him. Frustration bubbled in his chest as the chilly wind bit his skin. He gave up with a sigh of irritation, deciding finding a cave would be better than the shack constructed earlier that day.

It was only a short walk, much to his relief, until he found a cosy cave for him to spend the night. Before he even entered, an acrid scent hit him, along with a wave of nausea. Holding back the urge to vomit, Nicolas went to find the stench. Even in the dark, the outline of the boy was visible. Sobs clawed their way up his throat as he recognised the dead body before him.

Ty lay there, flies buzzed around his rotten and bulbous skin, head caved in. Nicolas raced out of the stale cave and emptied the contents in his stomach, tears streamed down his face. Who could’ve done this?

Then, he noticed large footprints in the snow that lead to and from the cave. If he and his friends were the only here, one of them must have done this to their friend. Nicolas creeped towards the prints, careful to avoid distorting them with his own.

There was no doubt in his mind; The only person who could make these prints was Cameron. Every emotion hit him at once—anger, disgust, hurt. He felt betrayed. The others needed to know about this, needed to know they are living with a murderer.

The small boy made the trek back to the cabin, determined to let the truth out.


End file.
